


Scars

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: The Lady Herald and Her Lion [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Fluff, Headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 22:18:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Cullen and the Inquisitor trade scar stories.





	Scars

Verana sat alone at the top of the storage tower – one leg pulled up while the other was stretched out in front of her – leaning back against the crenellations of the turret and holding a book propped against her thigh. She would not be able to read for much longer, as the sun was setting swiftly, turning the clear sky brilliant hues of magenta and orange, but she was not going to close the tome before she absolutely had to. It was rare that she had any time simply to herself, and she was taking full advantage of it.

She had chosen this particular spot for its quiet seclusion and its beautiful view of the surrounding landscape, as well as the open expanse of the sky above. Despite the cool of the evening, she found the crisp air wonderfully refreshing, and the vastness of the world around her gave her a wonderful sense of freedom.

“There you are.”

Cullen’s voice broke the relative silence, and Verana glanced over to the trapdoor to see the commander emerging onto the rooftop. His armor glittered as it caught the rays of the golden sun, and his meticulously combed locks were limned with light. As the door closed with a definitive click, he slowly strode over to her, adding, “I thought I saw you over here.”

Her brow furrowed, and she slowly closed the book after marking her place, “You saw me?”

Tilting his head in the direction of the keep, he replied, “Your quarters provide an unobstructed view of the walls and towers. It wasn’t difficult to locate you from there.”

Curious, she cocked her head at him with a slight smile, “You went to my quarters? What for?”

“I…ah,” he shifted his weight, and she watched as he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously with one gloved hand, as he had a notorious habit of doing, “I actually just received a report from the Emprise du Lion. I left it on your desk and was going to return to my office when I saw you from your window.” He clasped his sword’s pommel as he looked down at her and elaborated, “The engineers have started work on Judicael’s Crossing. It will be finished as soon as possible, of course, but they estimate it will take at least a week.”

Verana sighed heavily, setting the book beside her on the stone, “Is it bad of me to want it to take longer than that?”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth pulling into a wry smile, “I understand. I imagine you’ve had enough of travel already this year.” He met her gaze with a certain softness in his warm, honey-gold eyes, which were made warmer by the sunlight. “For my part, I know it is becoming more and more difficult to see you leave this fortress.”

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks, and she was about to reply when, of a sudden, they both heard a sharp “ _Mew!_ ”

“Oh, not again,” Cullen remarked irritably as he tugged at his coat, “Where is the little furball this time?”

Verana chuckled as he then turned around and around in a circle, trying to find the raven-black kitten that had hitched a ride in the Inquisitor’s chambers. As soon as his back faced her, Verana saw Hope latched onto his mantle, the gangly kitten having climbed up the fabric to settle in the soft fur. Hope had grown a bit since she had first been given by Leliana to the Inquisitor as a birthday gift; she was getting longer in the body, and already the inkspot sported a denser, more luxurious coat.

The Inquisitor laughed, “Back up to me, she’s in your collar.”

Sighing, he backed towards her and knelt so Verana could easily remove Hope from the mantle without moving from where she sat. The kitten protested mightily, but quickly found solace in the adoring strokes of her owner, purring loudly while the knight-enchantress held her close and scratched behind her ears.

“Apparently she doesn’t like your quarters,” Cullen chuckled as he eased down beside Verana, sitting with his knees pulled up as he leaned back against the crenellation next to her.

Verana smiled down at the still-purring kitten, “I think she just hates being alone.”

He raised a brow at the cat, “By all accounts, she is sure to make her mark on the servants who disturb her.”

“Ohhh,” Verana’s eyes widened. “Leaving scars are we?” She asked the kitten, who looked up at her with wide blue eyes.

“If you believe what your chambermaids have to say about her,” Cullen replied.

“Speaking of scars,” Verana cocked her head sideways at the commander, eyes traveling to the familiar, slightly jagged diagonal slash on his upper lip, “You never told me how you got yours. What’s the story behind it, if I may ask?”

He gave her a sly look, replying without hesitation, “I cut myself shaving.”

Verana had to fight to keep a straight face as she replied seriously, “With your sword, perhaps?”

“Battleaxe,” his response was deadpan, “It’s a significant Templar tradition, you see.”

A few moments of utter silence later, they both broke out into amused chuckles. Cullen shook his head and added, “In all seriousness, however, it’s a battle scar, as you might have guessed. I got it at Kirkwall, when Meredith confronted Hawke at the Gallows. Unfortunately, I was caught without my helmet in that fight.” He sighed, leaning back against the wall. “I knew the Knight-Commander was a skilled warrior, but I had no idea just how powerful the red lyrium had made her, propelling her above and beyond what was humanly possible. She was fast as lightning, and she was on me before I could get a proper defensive stance. I must have instinctively pulled back in the nick of time, because I just barely managed to avoid her slicing my face in half; as it was, the tip of her blade caught me right in the mouth and gave me this nice souvenir to remember her by.”

Verana winced as he recounted the injury, imagining the pain, “That had to have hurt.”

“It did,” he affirmed, inclining his head, “It bled profusely. I was offered a potion at the end of the fight, as Hawke was exhausted beyond measure and too drained to do anything, but I refused it. With the exception of the Champion herself, most of the competent mage healers had been slain in the fighting, and the Chantry was gone, which left supplies painfully short for the civilians who got caught up in that mess; I couldn’t justify using up a potion for surface wounds when there were dead and dying innocents in the streets.” He shook his head, “So, I let it heal naturally.”

“You were lucky it didn’t go deeper,” Verana remarked.

He nodded slowly, his eyes distant, “So I was.”

After a few moments, he glanced sideways at her and asked curiously, “What about you? Any scars of significance other than…?” he trailed, gesturing to the Mark.

Snorting, she replied, “Other than a gouge on my knee from where a Templar recruit thought he’d be funny and pushed me down a stone stairway at Ostwick? No, I’m afraid this takes the cake,” she held up her palm, which was bare for once.

Looking at her Anchor hand, he asked, “Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh, of course. I don’t mind at all.” She scooted closer and offered him her hand to look at more closely; for once, she wore no gloves, as she found it inhibited her ability to turn pages. Cullen gingerly took the Marked hand in his own, peering at the diagonal slash that spanned from her forefinger to the heel of her palm. It looked like a gash that would be made in fabric, the flesh underneath her skin faintly glowing and pulsing with raw Fade energy. It was relatively calm now, rippling like the shimmering surface of sunlit water. But anytime a Rift was nearby, it erupted into a bright beacon, sometimes burning with its raw power.

He traced a finger gently along the Mark, brow furrowing as he seemed to study it intensely. Regarding him quizzically as he did so, she asked softly, “Does it bother you?”

He seemed surprised at her question, “Bother me? No, no, of course not,” he reassured her, a look of concern crossing his countenance.

She half-smiled, “I just thought, with the Fade influence and all…”

If it did affect him in any way, he did not show it. Instead, he met her eyes and smiled gently in return, “ _Nothing_ about you bothers me, Verana.” As if to illustrate his point, her brought the Anchored hand to his lips and kissed her palm; he had just shaved that morning, and instead of the typical roughness of his stubble, her skin was greeted with a silky smooth sensation that was positively delightful. Her Marked palm in particular was hypersensitive to touch, and she felt her cheeks burning as if they might start glowing in the twilight, as much from the feeling as from the sweetness of the gesture itself.

At that moment, Hope nudged her thigh and meowed rather loudly, trying to catch her attention. Verana first glanced to the cat and then upwards to where the inkspot was watching the sky, the kitten’s wide eyes flicking back and forth. There, dancing above them like shining satin ribbons, were the bright curtains of an aurora. The sky rippled with pale green, which became brighter as the sun slipped farther and farther behind the mountains. Verana felt her mouth drop open slightly, and she could not tear her eyes from the spectacle overhead, the mesmerizing lights flickering and rippling across the violet sky that was now strewn with countless twinkling stars. Heaven itself seemed to be proving that though it was scarred like they who watched it, it still possessed tremendous beauty…

“Maker’s breath,” Cullen breathed, obviously as awestruck as she, slipping his hand into hers and holding it fast. His voice almost a whisper, he teased, “ _I_ didn’t cause this, did I?”

Unable to look away, she shook her head slowly, another smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “I think the Maker is saying ‘Hello.’”

Slowly, she leaned into him, and he slipped his arm around her waist and held her close as they watched the dancing lights above them. Hope jumped into Verana’s lap and settled herself comfortably there, remarkably quiet for once. They said nothing to each other, as if afraid of breaking whatever magic held them spellbound, watching in silence as the sky continued to darken, and the aurora revealed hues of crimson and azure amongst the shimmering green. The highly-polished plates of Cullen’s armor reflected these vivid lights, and had they looked at the walls below them, they would have seen the same mirrored on the helms and breastplates of the many watchmen who had come out to observe the spectacle, too. A hush fell over the entire fortress for the whole duration of the display, which lasted very nearly an hour before beginning to fade away into the night, disappearing as quietly as it had arrived.

At last, the chill of the night began to seep into her bones, and Verana shivered. Cullen pulled her tighter and murmured, “You should get back to your quarters where it’s warm.”

Sighing, she reluctantly acquiesced, gathering the sleepy Hope into her arms along with the book she had brought with her, “Yes…you’re right.”

Noting her hesitation, he smiled wryly and slipped his hand to the back of her neck, “But not before I give you a proper goodnight, of course.”

He then leaned in and kissed her tenderly, and she felt a flood of warmth that temporarily banished the chill that had set in. Verana hated that her hands were full, making her unable to embrace him before departing. She did, however, make sure to return the gesture he had given her earlier by pointedly kissing his scar as soon as his lips released hers. The bashful look he gave her as she slowly pulled away from him was heart-melting, and she grinned uncontrollably as she whispered, “Goodnight, Commander.”

“Goodnight, Inquisitor,” he replied softly, unmoving as she turned and descended the ladder into the tower below.


End file.
